The Secrets that Lie Within (Taylor's Bend, #1)

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘We are aware of the situation.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that the people who did this are still out there somewhere and I’m … worried.’

  ‘We’ll take good care of her. She’s safe here.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Abbie hung up only partly appeased. Although kind, the nurse had ended with the same patronising note as DS McGrath. But neither of them had been through what she and Georgia had. They didn’t know.

  And the nurse didn’t question who she was at all. The receptionist should have denied Georgia was there. The sooner she was out of that place and safe here at the police station with her mother, the better.

  Rupe came back in and opened the fridge. ‘Marlene brought a casserole for us as well as clothes for you,’ he said. ‘The bag’s in the living room.’ He pointed to an old-fashioned blue tartan overnight bag on the floor by an easy chair.

  ‘She’s so kind.’

  He lifted the lid off the pot and sniffed. ‘And she’s a good cook, this smells fantastic. She said heat it on the stovetop. I’ll do mashed spuds.’

  ‘Give me a potato peeler.’

  ‘Top drawer on the right next to the sink.’

  Peeling and chopping potatoes was mindless and calming. Rupe insisted she do twice as many as she planned, which made her smile. She’d forgotten how much a large man could eat.

  ‘Will my house be liveable in, do you think?’

  ‘The bedroom floor will definitely need replacing, maybe the walls, too. Are you insured?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll have to get onto the insurance company tomorrow.’

  ‘They’ll send someone out to do an assessment.’

  ‘The whole house will need painting, I expect, to get rid of the smell.’

  ‘Maybe not. Best to get a professional clean-up team in. You might be able to claim a bit through the victims of crime compensation scheme.’

  ‘But we’re not badly injured.’

  ‘No, but Aaron smashed your means of making a living.’

  Abbie dumped the potato pieces into the saucepan of water Rupe had heating on the stove, as the implications of that fact sank in. She’d never have the three remaining pieces done by Louise’s deadline. She had to replace all her equipment first. He might have missed some items, and there were a few boxes still in the shed that she hadn’t got around to unpacking yet. Art books, mainly. Old sketchpads. Not much of use. But there was an easel.

  ‘I’ll have to see what, if anything, is left. Can we go out there tomorrow? And I need to get our cars fixed.’

  ‘I called Stuey. He said he’d get out there first thing and he’ll collect the keys on the way. They took the rotor arms out. It’s an easy fix but I want him to check in case they did something else.’

  ‘Brakes?’

  ‘Who knows, but it’s not worth the risk.’

  Abbie slumped onto a chair. ‘There’s so much to do …’

  ‘I can help. First thing is to contact the insurance people. Your bedroom was the only room with actual burn damage so that room you use as an office will be unharmed. Did you keep your paperwork in the desk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, we can get it tomorrow.’

  As Rupe outlined the steps through the disaster, Abbie gradually pulled herself back together. This wasn’t the worst she’d experienced. It was just a house and it could be rebuilt. It wasn’t like discovering the man you’d married and lived with was a monster who preyed on innocent young woman. That was a real blow to the heart and shattered her family and for a period, her life. This was a setback with a practical, logical solution. Her art equipment could be replaced, she had three works already safely at Louise’s and she didn’t need much to get going again. Just the basics. It would be faster to go to the art supplier herself than send an order and wait.

  ‘I’ll go to Sydney,’ she said in the midst of her mental planning.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rupe sat opposite, a frown wrinkling his brow, concern in his eyes. ‘Abbie, you don’t need to leave. I know this has been a terrible experience but it won’t happen again. Please, don’t go. Everyone will help you get settled again.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Move back to Sydney.’

  ‘I’m not leaving. I love living here.’ She shook her head, pleased and flattered by the concern and his relieved expression. ‘I meant I’ll go to Sydney to restock my art supplies. It’ll be quicker than putting in an order. I need to get at least one painting redone, if not two. I only have a few months. Tomorrow I’ll see what I need.’

  ‘Is it quicker? It’s a long drive on your own. Seven hours at least each way. And you’ve just had a very traumatic experience.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll phone and make sure they have what I want. The shop is in Annandale so I don’t need to go all the way into the city. I’ll stay overnight.’

  ‘What about Georgia?’

  ‘What about her? She’ll be okay here with you, won’t she? She wouldn’t be up to it.’

  ‘I can’t be here with her all the time. I do have to work.’

  ‘Rupe, she’s not a child.’

  He looked at her for a moment, lips slightly pursed, questions in his eyes. What was he thinking?

  ‘Fine. If that’s what you want to do. When will you go?’

  ‘Not for a couple of days.’

  ‘In that case why go at all? You can phone an order in and get them to express deliver it.’

  ‘It’s Wednesday, it wouldn’t turn up until Monday at the earliest.’ She rubbed her hands together, twisting the fingers around each other. What to do? She had to get started as soon as possible.

  ‘You wouldn’t be back any faster than that yourself unless they open at weekends.’

  His calm rationality cut through her fevered thoughts. He was right. She’d have to wait till next week.

  ‘Surely there’s an art supplier in Wagga or Albury who could provide some things to get you started,’ he said. ‘That would be a day trip.’

  She jerked her head up. ‘There is! In Wagga. They don’t have a lot but they do stock the paint I use and brushes.’

  ‘Good. You can have a look when we collect Georgia.’

  Abbie stared at her hands, gripped so tightly together the knuckles were white. ‘I’m sorry. I’m panicking, aren’t I?’ She relaxed her fingers and exhaled.

  He shrugged. ‘You’ve had a rough time. You need food and you need sleep.’ He got up and looked into Marlene’s pot, gave the contents a stir and tasted a spoonful. ‘This is nearly ready.’

  ‘How are the spuds?’

  ‘Ready to smash.’

  ***

  Abbie woke at six the next morning. She lay in the large bed watching the morning sunlight stream in through the gap in curtains, pale and fresh. She yawned and stretched her legs out, then tentatively tried her arms. The long, hot soak in the tub and Rupe’s muscle-relaxing liniment applied with those big strong fingers had done their job; her shoulders felt much better.

  She threw the cover back and went into the little ensuite. Her reflection in the small wall mirror startled her as it probably would for a while, but it didn’t look too bad. She studied her newly revealed skull structure with her artist’s eye. Luckily she had a good-shaped head—no lumps and bumps or flattened bits, a nicely domed skull. So did Georgia. She should do a self-portrait, a sketch before her hair grew back. She could do them both. Mother and daughter. Pregnant Georgia would be a lovely memento later.

  Back in the bedroom, she opened Marlene’s bag and laid the contents on the bed. If they were going to the house this morning she shouldn’t wear either of the blouses or the white skirt. She chose a dark red T-shirt and the pants Connie had given her. With any luck she could salvage some of her own clothes.

  When she walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Rupe was already sitting at the table with a cup of tea, reading the paper. He looked up with a smile that sent her heart into a little flutter of delight and the memory of that massage th
at wasn’t a massage but really was. He was such a sweet, honest, dependable man. Why did being here with him feel so comfortable, even familiar, after only one night?

  ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’

  ‘Really well. I must have had about ten hours straight through.’

  ‘Good. You look much better.’

  ‘I hope I smell better too. I can’t tell if I’m used to it or if it’s faded already.’

  ‘It’s faded.’ He grinned. ‘Now you smell like sports liniment. How are your shoulders?’

  She shot him a swift look. Was he referring to the massage and her reaction? But he didn’t know the effect he’d had on her. He couldn’t even if he had heard her breathe his name. ‘Not so bad. That stuff works.’

  ‘What do you want for breakfast? The tea’s fresh.’

  ‘Thanks. What do you usually have?’

  ‘Eggs and toast, or cereal.’

  ‘I’ll do eggs if you like. How?’

  ‘Scrambled, please.’

  Abbie set to work. The least she could do was cook for him while she was staying here.

  Halfway through the eating, Stuey arrived to collect the car keys but didn’t stay, saying he wanted to get an early start.

  ‘We’ll get going as soon as we finish breakfast,’ said Rupe. ‘I told Stuey to leave the gate open.’

  ***

  The ground was soggy around the house and the large fire truck had left deep tracks in the soft earth where it turned, but the house looked remarkably normal. Stuey’s van was parked next to her car.

  ‘It looks the same,’ said Abbie, but sniffed and wrinkled her nose as she got out of the car. A lingering pong of smoke hung in the air.

  ‘Not inside.’

  Stuey was tinkering with Georgia’s car, leaning into the engine bay and whistling an unidentifiable tune. A couple of magpies warbled along in a sporadic accompaniment.

  ‘Any other problems, Stuey?’ asked Rupe.

  He straightened and wiped his hand on his overalls. ‘Nah, they’ll be right. Just had to put the rotor arms back on. Buggers you right up without ’em.’

  ‘Thanks for coming out here so quickly. Tell me how much I owe you,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Oh, no, I want to pay you. It’s taken time away from your other work and you have a business to run.’

  He glanced at Rupe then back to Abbie with narrowed eyes. ‘Okay, if you insist. Five bucks.’

  ‘Five?’

  She looked at Rupe for help and he nodded. ‘Sounds fair.’

  ‘Yep, that’ll do. And you can buy me a beer some time.’ Stuey turned and shut the bonnet of the car.

  Abbie fished out a crumpled five-dollar note and he took it with a solemn, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you. Everyone’s being so kind, I …’ Her throat tightened suddenly.

  He looked away, shoved the money in his pocket. ‘Don’t worry about it. Keys are in the car. Okay, folks, I’ll get going. See you later.’ He hopped into the van and started the engine.

  ‘I’ll see you in the pub some time,’ called Abbie.

  ‘It’s a date.’ He waved and roared off along the track.

  Rupe collected the keys and handed Georgia’s to Abbie. ‘Five dollars,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Buy him that beer.’

  ‘I will, don’t worry. And you too.’

  He smiled. ‘Right, let’s get to work.’

  Inside, the aftermath of the firemen’s work was clear. Although the living room was relatively unscathed, furniture had been moved aside for easier access and the hallway runner was a soggy mess of muddy footprints. As they went deeper into the house, the smell increased and black soot streaked the walls.

  ‘We should open windows.’ Abbie backtracked and flung open the two windows in the living room and left the door standing wide. Rupe had continued down the hallway.

  ‘The study is fine,’ he said. ‘No water damage. I’ll open the window.’

  Abbie stopped at the doorway to her room. The bed was totally destroyed. Soaked, sooty bedding lay in a tangle on the mattress and charred curtains hung miserably from the rail, also drenched. The door bore a thick coating of black but didn’t appear to have caught fire. The worst of the charring radiated from the remains of her woodbox on the barely recognisable rug.

  ‘Don’t go in, in case the floor is weakened.’

  ‘When will they give me a report?’

  ‘Not for a while.’

  ‘But I need clothes. Can’t I just go to the chest of drawers? It’s close to the door and the floor here looks okay. Not burned at all.’

  Before he could object Abbie nipped across and opened the top drawer, her fingers covered immediately in the black residue. From her handbag, she pulled one of the several plastic carry bags she’d brought along and stuffed in handfuls of bras, panties and socks. The next drawer yielded her T-shirts, long- and short-sleeved, which filled the second bag. She took them to the door and turned to the wardrobe.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Rupe.

  ‘I don’t weigh much. Anyway the firemen didn’t go through, did they?’

  Moving more carefully this time, she reached the wardrobe. An overnight bag was on the top shelf and she dragged it down and packed in a variety of pants, blouses, skirts. A jumper and a jacket. Sneakers, high-heeled sandals and shoes went into the remaining plastic bag. Everything reeked of smoke. Maybe she was wasting her time doing this.

  She edged carefully back to the door where Rupe glowered.

  ‘Okay,’ she said and gave him her best smile.

  Georgia’s bedroom was unscathed. Abbie picked up a few toiletries from the dressing table but there was nothing else of hers there. The fireman had collected the backpack and handbag yesterday. The kitchen and bathroom were smelly but undamaged. She scooped the necessities from the bathroom into her stash of bags in the kitchen. A trickle of water ran from the tap when she tried to rinse her hands.

  ‘They’ll have turned the power and the water off,’ said Rupe. He stood with hands on hips, surveying the wreckage in the studio. ‘He made a pretty good job of it, the bastard.’

  ‘I know. How can someone do that? Especially someone who is supposed to be an artist themselves.’

  ‘That may not be true.’

  ‘No. Who knows?’

  Abbie picked her way through the mess. The two chairs lay broken where she and Georgia had spent the long, tortured night. All around lay Aaron’s handwork. She bent and picked up the remains of the canvas she’d been working on. Completely destroyed. So were the small watercolours she’d stacked for shipping. All gone.

  Her paints, squashed underfoot, oozed a chaotic kaleidoscope of colour. She carefully extracted a few survivors and found one of the new boxes somehow miraculously untouched under her workbench. Only one brush had come through the carnage but her palette knife was, as she’d suspected hidden under the mass of broken frames.

  ‘There might be more when I’ve cleaned up properly,’ she said. ‘But this is something. And he missed my new canvases. The ones I haven’t used yet.’ She pulled the three large frames out from behind the bench where they’d been hidden against the wall.

  ‘Not as bad as we thought.’

  ‘No, I can make a start. I’ve got an old easel in the shed.’

  ‘Where do you want to work?’

  ‘Can I set up at your place? That back verandah area where the washing machine is would be good if that’s okay with you. I can put down a drop sheet but I won’t make a mess.’

  ‘That’s fine if you’re happy.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. I know it’s a big imposition, Rupe.’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll enjoy the company. If you’re finished here we should find the insurance papers.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Thirty minutes later, Abbie locked the front door and walked to her laden car. The easel had just fitted in the back, along with the bags of clothes. The
overnight bag, the box of art gear and sundry other items Abbie had collected went into the boot. The paperwork for her insurance claim was folded safely in her handbag.

  She followed Rupe’s car down the drive but a truck partially blocked their way. A telco van. They’d come to fix her phone line. Laughter, which she knew was dangerously close to turning hysterical, bubbled up as she got out of the car.

  ‘What timing,’ she said.

  Rupe grinned. ‘I’d forgotten they’d said they’d come today. The woman on the phone was giving me a hard time about making sure the gate was open.’

  ‘Good thing it is or they’d have gone away and come back next year.’

  Rupe led the way through the bush to where the workmen were. ‘The line was cut, did you know that?’ he said.

  ‘No! Why didn’t you tell me?’ The urge to laugh died as suddenly as it had risen.

  ‘At that stage I didn’t want to scare you. It could have been the prowler.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have made any difference if I’d known or not, I suppose.’

  ‘No. I think Aaron did it.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Just one workman was looking at the broken line. After the round of greetings, Abbie asked, ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘Yeah, a splice should do it. It’s been cut. What happened?’

  ‘We’ve had some trouble out here,’ said Rupe. ‘Among other things, a home invasion and arson.’

  ‘Yeah? That’s bad.’

  ‘Will you lock the gate when you leave, please?’ asked Rupe.

  ‘Sure thing, mate.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abbie.

  Back at the police station, Abbie unpacked her clothes in the yard and hung them to air on the clothesline while Rupe went to open the office.

  He came back almost immediately. ‘I just phoned the hospital to check when we could collect Georgia,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘She’s not there. She discharged herself.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘When?’ Shock rippled through her body.

  ‘About a quarter of an hour ago.’

  ‘Why? Where did she go?’ Abbie’s brain clunked and whirred trying to process what he was saying. Fifteen minutes ago? Why would Georgia leave the hospital? And why wouldn’t she tell her mother?